


My Brother

by DemonSquipster



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Big Brother Mycroft, But enjoy my writing, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Cringe, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I can't remember why I even made this, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft To The Rescue, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Loves Hannibal, avert your eyes now, even though I'm pretty sure you won't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/pseuds/DemonSquipster
Summary: My attempt at a serious fic. Sorry, my bad attempt at a serious fic.AKA the fic where Hannibal's sad and Will tries to help and Sherlock's moody, and Mycroft is concerned.Sounds great, right?(There's a right answer here.It's no.)





	My Brother

Will Graham's POV

"Morning, Will." Hannibal smiled over to me from the kitchen. I walked over to the counter. "Hanni. We need to talk about last night." He set down his whisk and looked up at me. He gave me a nod. "Over breakfast."  
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"Will, come over here." Hannibal smirked. I sighed and walked over to him as I unbuttoned my shirt. I threw off the plaid shirt into the nearby hamper, along with my jeans. My underwear and white shirt were left, as usual. Hannibal was in a white robe, with black silk peaking out underneath it. I sat down next to the slightly taller man. I looked over at him, and curled up next to him. We laid together and started drifting off to sleep.

RING, RING. We looked up at Hannibal's phone, which continued to ring. He sighed and answered it. "Hello?" He asked, drowsiness tipping into his voice. "Myc? What are you doing, calling so late?" Who's Myc? "My brother? Why are you calling me about Charles?" Worry was replacing the drowsiness. Hannibal's jaw dropped, and he immediately pulled his hand away from mine to cover his mouth. He pulled his hand away from his mouth to speak, though. "What do you mean? Mycroft, what the hell is going on?!" He stood up, eyes flashing over to me, darting around the room.

"Mycroft, I swear, this better be a joke." Hannibal threatened. "Explain. NOW." He was growling softly. "Sherlock... shot Charles? Really?" There was no worry or drowsiness in his voice. It was all rage now. Pure, murderous rage. "Goodbye, Mycroft." He pulled the phone away from his ear. "DOCTOR LECTER, WAIT-" A British voice yelled from the phone, but was cut off by Hannibal hanging up. A deadly silence fell over the room. "Hannibal?" I finally asked. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. Not now, please, Will." Hannibal looked at his phone and tossed it on the floor with a thud. He pulled me into a hug. I held onto him, and we fell asleep like that. As I fell asleep, I think I heard the soft sound of him crying.   
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An hour later, Hannibal finished making breakfast, and he made us plates. "Last night. I have questions." I said, taking a bite of my waffle. "As you should. Ask away, and I'll do my best to explain." He sighed, pushing his food around his plate. Christ, he wasn't even hungry. "Who's Mycroft?" I asked. "Mycroft Holmes was someone I met during my visits to Britain, as that's where my brother was living. Mycroft was one of the government officials that my brother worked with, and we got along. We became... friends, in a way." He explained, trying to eat a few bites.

"Alright. Who's Sherlock?" I finished my eggs, eating quite quickly. "Sherlock is Mycroft's younger brother by seven years. He's a detective. We've never met, on Mycroft's request. Sherlock's quite known for his rudeness around Britain, it wouldn't be the best idea for us to be around each other." Hannibal forced himself to take another few bites. "Is Charles your brother, and if so, why haven't I heard of him sooner?" I asked, setting my fork down, after I finished the sausage. I just had a few more bites of waffle, but that could wait.

"Yes. Charles is my brother. Charles Augustus Magnussen Lecter. After Mischa, we became close. But we grew up. I came to America, he went to Britain. I hadn't heard from him for a while, he did his newspaper, I came here and, well, you know. He dropped the Lecter part of his name when he moved." Hannibal nodded. "Does Charles have the... diet?" Hannibal shook his head. "No." He looked down at the sausage before looking back up. "So Sherlock shot Charles?" I asked softly, Hannibal nodded. "God, Hannibal... I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" I frowned. "Be my comfort at his funeral. It'll be in Lithuania, and he'll be buried next to Mischa." Hanni told me. He sighed, standing up and setting his half eaten plate of waffle on the counter and headed upstairs. I didn't respond, but we both knew the answer.   
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One week later, the funeral had come. I stood in one of Hannibal's suits next to him, next to the casket which held Charles. I just wasn't a suit person. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Doctor Lecter." A man who looked to be around the same age as Hannibal walked up to us. He had a more casual beige suit, and a pocket watch halfway sticking out of his jacket pocket. An umbrella twirled calmly in his hand. I recognised the voice, it was the same one that had yelled at Hannibal just a week ago. "You should have kept a better eye on your brother. Speaking of, where is he?" Hannibal asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

"London, sitting in a jail cell, being monitored by DI Lestrade. Not currently being monitored by him, however. He does have a life outside work." The man said. "Are you Mycroft Holmes?" I asked. "Yes. You must be Special Agent Will Graham. Pleasure to meet you, I've heard quite a bit about you." Mycroft held his hand out to me. I reluctantly shook it. "Just Will is fine." I told him quietly. "Just Will. Got it." Mycroft nodded. "Now, you're right, Hannibal. I should have kept a better eye on him. We were having a Christmas dinner, and he drugged my punch. Everyone's but his own and Doctor Watson's, actually. He stole my laptop, and they left. I woke up and followed them when I learned where they went. I arrived with my officers, and saw Charles and Sherlock arguing. Sherlock then shot Charles, for no apparent reason. Sherlock says it was for a good reason, but he refuses to tell me the reason." The slender man explained.

Drops of water started to fall on us. "Of course." I muttered, as the rain came down faster. Mycroft lifted his black umbrella up and opened it. He handed it to Hannibal. Hanni took it and held it over us. "Mycroft, thank you for at least trying." Hannibal finally said, before turning back to the casket. Mycroft nodded, and pulled out another umbrella and walked over to another man, with gray hair. They exchanged soft words, before hugging each other. "Who's that?" I asked Hanni. "That would be Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. No need to pay much attention to them." Hannibal replied softly, turning away from them and towards the black casket.   
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I woke up one morning. The bedside next to me, was unmade... unusual, Hanni always made the bed. I walked into the kitchen, he wasn't there like usual. There was a note on the counter, left with a number. Hannibal's phone laid on the note, shattered to pieces. I pulled out my own phone, and called the number, confused. "Mycroft Holmes speaking, to whom might I be speaking to?" The voice on the other end said. I sighed and replied. "Yes, hello. I'm Will Graham, we met at Charles Magnussen's funeral?" I asked. "Yes, I remember." He said. "Well, Hannibal's gone missing. He's left a note and his broken phone." I told Mycroft. "Hannibal? Yes, he sent me a text just earlier this morning. He says he's coming to Britain." Mycroft explained.

"Why would Hannibal leave without me, or without even telling me?" I asked. "Why does Hannibal do anything that he does?" Mycroft asked, amusement in his voice. I sighed and ended the call. I sunk my face in hands and stood there a second before grabbing my jacket, car keys, and leaving. I drove to the airport, after noticing that Hannibal's special sports car was already gone. I arrived and got a ticket for a ride tomorrow. That's not today though. I frowned and headed back home. I recalled Mycroft. "Mister Graham. I have not heard from Hannibal, in fact, his plane has landed, but no sign of him even being in London has occurred." He told me. He sounded irritated. "Did you check the plane?" I asked. "I couldn't. I'm in a plane now." He told me. "Speaking of, I should go. Government business to attend to. Bye bye now." Mycroft said. "No, wait, don-" The call was ended. I set my phone on the counter, irritated.   
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As soon as I landed in London, I received a text from an unknown number. 'Go to 221B Baker Street. You'll find what you're looking for.' It said. It wasn't Hannibal, so I didn't see why they would need to bother me. It wasn't Mycroft, with new news that Hanni was okay. I called the number. No answer. I frowned and hailed a cab, heading to the location. I arrived and knocked on the door. I was greeted by a short lady, in her 70s, it seemed. "Oh, hello! Are you here to see Sherlock?" She asked. I stared at her a moment, trying to recall the name Sherlock. "Sherlock? Oh, y- yes. Of course." I nodded. "Sherlock! You have someone to see you!" She yelled. No response. "Just go up the stairs, you'll see him." She told me. I followed her up the stairs.

"Sherlock!" She tried to get his attention. He was seemingly asleep on a chair. He opened one eye and glanced over to me. "Are you here about a case?" He asked. I nodded. He smiled a little. He wasn't dressed, in fact he was just in a dress robe and pajamas. Something that Mycroft probably wouldn't do, I assumed. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You can go now." Sherlock shooed the small lady away, and she scoffed before leaving. "Now, what is your problem?" He asked. "My husband's gone missing. I'm from Virginia, America. We came from Toronto, up in Canada. We went to bed one night, and now he's gone missing when I woke up yesterday morning." I explained, stammering here and there. "Do you know why he would have left?" Sherlock asked, intrigued. I nodded. "Because you killed his brother."


End file.
